The Undead World (Book 5): The Apocalypse Renegades (12 page)

He knew this feeling; it meant he was hung over. “But I didn’t drink anything,” he whispered. And then he remembered the oxycodone. “It was the pills.”

Next to him, lying on a mattress wearing only a T-shirt and panties—her legs looking longer than he was tall—Deanna gave him a sympathetic smile and said, “We’re all out, sorry.” Her skin shimmered with a fine coat of sweat; on her, it was mesmerizing.

Neil quickly looked up at the ceiling, realizing he had been staring. “I didn’t do anything, you know, stupid last night, did I?”

She gave him a pained look and replied, “No, you just got a little weepy.”

Weepy? He didn’t like the sound of that, though he supposed it was better than if he had tried putting the “moves” on her. “Sorry, I was such a pain.” He sat up, grunting as a sharp pain shot from his shoulder down his arm. Just like that, Deanna hopped up and threw on a pair of pants; Neil made a conscientious effort to inspect the tops of his toes as she did. She left him on the couch and came back a minute later grinning, holding up a blue sling.

“This place has everything,” she said. “There’s food and water and gas. Lots and lots of gas. There’s enough stuff here to last a couple of people for some time.”

She handed Neil the sling and he puzzled over wondering how it went on. He asked her, “And what happens when the owners come back?”

She pointed at the ceiling. “They are dead. As far as I can tell the man got bit somehow and the woman put him out of his misery before killing herself.”

“Sad,” Neil commented, brushing over the deaths with a single word. “We’ll need to pack as much as we can and then get moving.”

“You still want to keep scouting?” Deanna asked in disbelief.

“Of course. People are counting on us to see them across the river and then across the plains. We can’t let a few injuries get in our way.”

Deanna scoffed, “A few injuries! Bill is dead and you can barely move your arm. How do you plan on getting back across the river? You could barely do it when you had both arms.”

Neil wasn’t going to be stopped by something so trivial as a dislocated shoulder. There were ways to cross if one was determined enough. “We’ll do it the same way Jillybean did. We’ll build a raft. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

She looked like she wanted to argue more, but stopped herself. “Okay, so we go north towards Cape Girardeau and the River King, but do we have to travel in the middle of the day? Don’t you think that’s pressing our luck too far?”

What luck?
he wanted to ask. The way he saw it, they had been the most unlucky group in the history of the universe. Still she had a point. “You’re right. We’ll leave at sunset. In the meantime we’ll catalog what we have and figure out what’s essential and what isn’t. We should also find a second vehicle, preferably a truck that can hold a raft.”

“That won’t be so easy,” Deanna said. “There’s a reason why this house hasn’t been looted before. This town has boatloads of zombies running around. I’m talking thousands.”

Neil went to the front window and peeked through the cracks of the boards covering it. Just as Deanna had said there were zombies everywhere. Skinny, hungry looking zombies at that. “It’s never easy, is it?” he asked under his breath.

The day was a long one, especially since Ipes remained in timeout until after lunch. To pass the time, she read. In one of the dead soldier’s dressers, she found a bible. She took one look at the millions of tiny words and said, “Whoa,” and put it back where she found it.

Another soldier had stacks of girlie magazine, which she stared at with wide eyes. The pictures made no sense to her; why would someone want to barbecue without any clothes on? She was trying to puzzle everything out, but when she heard voices in the hall, she shoved the magazines back where they belonged and tried not to let the guilt show on her face.

She rushed to the next dresser in the room and made a great show of looking at the magazine she found there. They all had to do with cars. The pictures on the front were neat looking but on the inside it was just a lot of babble concerning carburetors and engines and something called torque which she did not quite understand. When the voices in the hall retreated, she shoved the magazines back in the drawer and went to the last dresser in the four-person room.

This one at least held books that were closer to what she was looking for: comic books. She would have preferred Dr. Seuss or Clifford the Big Red Dog, however she knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. Jillybean nosed through the comics hoping to find something nice. The first few had blood-splattered covers and scary-looking people in costumes on the front. She didn’t bother even cracking it. The best she could do were a few issues of
The Amazing Spiderman
that she found at the bottom of the drawer. Thankfully, there was very little blood and gore to these stories; Spiderman generally used his webs to capture bad guys, or knock them out with a punch. These were much more her speed and she read each of the four cover to cover. With her limited reading ability this took up a good chunk of the day.

The other renegades lounged around the barracks until after dinner. Then they began dressing up once again as monsters for the trip north. For the most part they were excited and eager; even Fred Trigg was in a peppy mood. “This can work,” he said. “The River King will never look for us so close. You people should have listened to me a long time ago.”

Ipes, who didn’t want to go back in the time out so quickly, bit his lip and smiled with complete fakery.
That Fred sure is a genius
, he said.
He’s nearly as smart as Michael is hairy
.

Jillybean knew that was a putdown but as it involved Fred she didn’t say anything on account that she secretly agreed. She let it pass and only tapped her toes, anxiously. “Do you know what time it is, Ipes?” He told her it was just after nine to which she let out a long sigh.

Ernest was late calling them. At nine forty-five, Michael, Fred, and Jillybean sat around a CB that Michael had picked up from a local pawn shop. It was dead silent and when 10 o’clock came and went, no one knew what to do. The two adults bickered about whether to use the CB to call Ernest or not; Michael wanted Fred to make the decision because he didn’t trust himself; Fred wanted Michael to make the decision so that he could either steal credit if it worked out or lay blame if it didn’t.

Ipes thought they should wait.
If he was eaten by monsters or captured by the River King calling won’t do us any good but give our position away. He could be just running behind, you know
.

At half past ten, Ernest finally called. He came across in a tiny voice that was rendered somewhat robotic by all the static in the transmission. To Jillybean’s ears he sounded like he was calling from the moon. He gave directions to a middle school that he said was secure. He was upbeat and eager, saying: “The way is clear; there were hardly any zombies and no sign of any of the River King’s men. It should be smooth sailing. Just don’t get cocky. Take your time and I’ll see you around midnight.”

Word was passed and very quickly the renegades were hurrying out to the line of trucks and SUVs. There were a few zombies to be dealt with in the parking lot and then the group was off. Jillybean rode in the lead vehicle with the Gates family. The Suburban Michael had chosen was a big beast of a car that made short work of any of the monsters that got in their way. Though it was an upsetting sensation feeling them get mashed up under the big tires.

There were three rows of seats in the Suburban; Joe Gates and Jillybean sat in the very back. He spent the ride reading Jillybean’s comic books, using a little flashlight to see by, while she spent the ride worrying, with a feeling of impending doom hanging over her head—and it was all Ipes’ fault.

The stubborn zebra refused to say the slightest thing against Ernest.
He’s a prince
, he said when Jilly pressed him on the subject.
Who else but the sweetest guy would scout ahead in dangerous territory, all alone, for a bunch of strangers being hunted by an evil tyrant?

She only understood sarcasm on a rudimentary level. Yes, only a prince would do all that, so what was the problem? She couldn’t seem to find one. Ernest was like a prayer answered, so why was she feeling such doom and gloom?

If this wasn’t about Ernest then what was it about?

The answer didn’t come to her until later when they were nearing the Ohio River crossing just south of the little town of Cairo, Illinois. There she saw a sign
Cape Girardeau 22 miles
. It didn’t make much sense to her. They were supposed to be going to a place called Elko, not Cape Girardeau. Feeling dread take a good hold of her stomach, she dug out her map and with her flashlight found Cape Girardeau and Cairo.

Now she understood what was bothering her. “Don’t you think we’re going in a little too obvious?” she asked Joe next to her.

He looked up from the comic book, glanced out at the dark night, and replied, “What do you mean? We’re just driving. It’s how everyone drives.”

“I don’t mean how we’re driving. I’m talking about the way we’re driving.” She held up the map. “Look, Ernest has us running right up this road called 51. It’s pretty much the most obvious way to go there is.”

Marybeth, navigating in the front passenger seat, heard the conversation and squinted at her own map. “It’s really the only way to get to Elco, and besides, who would be watching for us? Ernest said the way was clear.”

Ipes finally spoke up saying in a whisper:
Ernest isn’t magical
.
He could be wrong. He could have missed a lone guy. Remember Gunner? Remember how he was watching all those roads?

“Maybe
you
should remember him,” Jillybean said. “Gunner wasn’t watching anything at all. They just thought he was. Really, it was…” she left off, glancing at Joe. The truth was that it had been Joe’s mom who had been spying on the group, letting people get captured by slavers in the hope of getting her kidnapped daughter back.

I remember
, Ipes said
. But the point is the same, someone could be watching. Why take the chance on coming in stupid
.

Jillybean’s eyes flared. “Ernest is not stupid.”

I’m not saying he is. I’m just saying that the route isn’t the best. Here, let me take a look at the map
. He was usually pretty good with maps and so she set him on her lap and unfolded the map so he could get a good long look. Next to her, Joe rolled his eyes and went back to his comic book. Jillybean saw the look but pretended she didn’t. She figured there was no sense trying to explain Ipes to him once again; Joe didn’t seem to want to know the truth.

Look!
Ipes cried smacking the map with the flat of his hoof.
Right there at the junction of Route 3, 51, and 57. Anyone could be sitting right there and see three major highways at once. If I was the River King, I would station someone there
.

“Then why didn’t Ernest get caught,” Jillybean asked, quietly. “And don’t say, that it’s because he’s working for the River King. You have no proof at all.”

I know, I know
, Ipes said
. I’m not accusing him. Maybe they didn’t get Ernest because he was just one man all by himself. Who knows? Just ask yourself what would Captain Grey do? I bet he would avoid that intersection like the plague
.

Jillybean was sure she didn’t understand what he meant by avoiding the plague. The plague was all about germs and she knew that you couldn’t drive around germs. But she got the gist of Ipes’ idea and it made logical sense, at least to her and if it made sense to her, then it would definitely make sense to Mister Michael. He thought she was the most logical person ever.

“Can we stop for a moment?” she asked. “I need to show you something on the map, Mister Michael.” She had him wrapped around her finger to such an extent that he listened to her more than he did his own wife.

In the soft glow of the dome light Michael read the map just as Jillybean wanted him to. “I see what you’re talking about. Right there.” He jabbed at the map with a fat finger. “But how do we get around?”

There was a way around the dangerous intersection of highways; it was obvious, but she didn’t point it out, instead she let Marybeth do it for her, though it took her a full minute for her to see what Jillybean had thought was clear as day. “Here’s a way,” Marybeth said tracing a line on the map. “The problem is it will take us at least an hour out of the way.”

Michael’s brow came down as if this was terrible news. “That’s not good at all. We can’t waste an hour, can we?”

It wasn’t clear who he was addressing, so Jillybean spoke before anyone else could, “I don’t see why not. We can sleep in tomorrow morning if we want to and really, don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?”

This line of reasoning worked on Michael but not Fred Trigg, who was in the car behind theirs. He came jogging up and as Michael explained Jillybean’s fears, Fred’s face puckered like he had just taken a bite out of a lemon. “We don’t have the fuel to be running around here and there. And besides, there’s no guarantee of safety in any direction. Who knows? We could run smack dab into one of those giant hordes if we go your way. Ernest’s way has us safely between two huge rivers. There’ll be no chance of a horde there!”

Joslyn, who’d been riding with Fred and who was currently leaning in through the passenger side window, also disagreed with the change in course. “This was the way Ernest scouted. Why send the scout and then not listen to him?”

“Exactly!” Fred said. “I think we should put our trust in someone who’s made it on his own. Ernest is pretty… I don’t want to call him wimpy, but there’s not much to him and yet he’s a survivor. He’s made it on his own.”

The fact that Jillybean had made it on her own as well didn’t seem to count in Fred’s mind. Michael looked torn by indecision and Marybeth seemed equally lost by the different facts before her. Surprisingly, it was William who spoke up on Jillybean’s behalf. “I say we listen to Jillybean. She’s never steered us wrong before.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “For your information, the side of a zombie-infested road in the middle of the night is not a place to call a freaking meeting! Everyone has already agreed to this route and it makes no sense to change it now so if you’re going to go Jillybean’s way, you’re going to go alone.”

Michael clearly didn’t like Fred’s tone and he said, “If that’s your attitude, then we will go alone.”

“Jeez!” Fred said throwing his hands in the air. “You’re being extremely difficult, Michael. This last minute change of heart is…is asinine. But, if you want to waste your time and gas, fine by me, just don’t try to change anyone else’s mind. You’ll just weaken the group.”

Fred and Jocelyn stalked back to their truck and after a few seconds, they drove around the Suburban. The next two vehicles in line passed them without stopping, however the third paused, sidling up next to them. Travis, the ex-prisoner was in the driver’s seat. “What’s up? You guys broke down?”

Marybeth answered, “No, we’re just going to take a different route. This one might not be safe.”

“What did ya hear?”

“Nothing really,” Marybeth admitted. “It’s just, uh, Jillybean has a feeling that it may not be safe.” The little girl wanted to tell them that it was more than just a feeling she was having. It was more like intuition coupled with logic and that was a lot more than just having a “feeling.”

Travis certainly wasn’t impressed by the idea of a seven-year-old dictating their route. “Well, you guys have a fun time.” He raised dust as he raced to catch up with the other vehicles in line. After him, no one else stopped and then the Suburban was on the road alone.

When the last of the tail lights were long gone and they hadn’t budged, Amy Gates, who rarely said anything at all, whispered, “It feels like we’re the last people on earth.”

She wasn’t wrong. The night seemed vast and the world empty, except for the monsters that is. They could hear the moans coming closer and closer. Michael gave a nervous laugh, put the car in gear and drove. A quarter mile down the road he saw the turn off and paused before taking it. The Ohio River was near and was laying down a thick mist that gave the road a haunted look.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered. The road, at first was paved asphalt and smooth, however it soon devolved into little more than a winding stripe of red dirt whose edges sometimes gave out from lack of care. For that reason, and because the forest pressed in very close on either side, they drove even slower.